


A Man Made of Dirt in the Rain

by inanatticinnovember



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: But isn't that what it's like in all of them?, Domestic, Fluff, In which Eggsy is a whiney child and Harry is inconsolably in love with him, M/M, this is silly please bare with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanatticinnovember/pseuds/inanatticinnovember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toothy and gorgeous, parenthesis wrinkles around his mouth and a warmth in his eyes. Every time it would stop Harry Hart’s heart, steal the breath right out of his lungs, shoot him dead, lovely in his grave. He’d do anything for that smile, anything. And Eggsy knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man Made of Dirt in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> First Hartwin fic, huzzah. Bare with me here, still trying to get a hang of the characters and what not. Try not to throw up with how domestic this is.
> 
> Unbeta'd and unbrit picked, whoopsie

It’s the smile that got him. 

Every time, the cheeky little bastard.

Toothy and gorgeous, parenthesis wrinkles around his mouth and a sparkle in his eyes. Every time it would stop Harry Hart’s heart, steal the breath right out of his lungs, shoot him dead, lovely in his grave. He’d do anything for that smile, anything. And Eggsy _knew_ it. 

He used it to his advantage. All the time. He would _wink_ and all the people would swoon at his precious feet, kiss the tops of his oxfords and call him _your royal majestic highness_ , and it got to the boy’s already bloated head. He was hardly charming, oh no, he was just _manipulative_. And it was simply sad that Harry fell for it every. Damned. Time. 

Like that time.

“Listen, mate, why would anyone in their right fuckin’ mind want to watch _Braveheart_ when we could be feastin’ our eyes on Vin Diesel’s tight arse.”

“You know how much I hate franchises, darling.”

“Fast and Furious is way more than a bloody franchise, it’s a _way of life._ ”

“Ever still.”

“Harry, come on, be a govna. Be a _gentleman_. Please?”

And then the smile. And they watched The Fast and The Furious, and then fell asleep to The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift. At least Eggsy had fallen asleep, conked out in his pants and one of Harry’s undershirts, all soft skin and fluttering eyelashes and ruddy, sleep brushed cheeks, looking like some High Renaissance cherub, save for the drooling vaguely on Harry’s pajama leg part. 

And that time.

“I’m terribly sorry, my love, but you’re being a petulant child.”

“Your mum’s a petulant child… c’mon, just a cheeky little spin, Harry. One tic and I’ll be done, pinky fuckin’ promise, on me mum’s grave.”

“Why do I have a strangely familiar voice in my head telling me not to believe you?”

“S’probably Merlin.”

“Well… you’ve an achingly relevant point.”

And then the smile. And they took a joy ride in the flashiest Jaguar (bright yellow, racing stripes, red leather interior) kept in the warehouse beneath the Kingsman grounds, Eggsy shouting out the window as they broke the speed limit sevenfold, his hair waving like a wild wheat field in the wind, cheeks blooming, utter bliss. It was most definitely worth the lecture from Merlin the next day.

And that time.

“But we always go to that stupid bloody piss hole--”

“--it’s a nice cafe, Eggsy--”

“--posh, establishment full of ponces with their pinkies in the air while they sip their terrible fuckin’ tea.”

“The tea is good.”

“The tea is sub par.”

“And where would you suggest we go instead, you poor soul?”

“I just wan’t plain ol’ Macdonalds, ain’t too much to ask for, innit?”

And then the smile. And he had sat in the corner of a greasy, fluorescent fast food chain, at a white plastic table wearing a very nice suit while Eggsy scarfed down two cheeseburgers and a large fry, the strange lights casting interesting shadows across Eggsy’s lovely face as he watched cars speed by, red tail lights in the window. Eggsy then complained the rest of the night about a stomach ache and Harry spent the entire car ride, their shower, the ten minutes at the bathroom mirror and the half hour in bed (where Eggsy sprawled out on Harry’s chest having him rub his belly), wanting desperately to say ‘I told you so’, but stopping himself. Because the moment he said that was the moment Eggsy would launch a suicide mission to spite him. And that was simply a bad idea. 

And, well, that time.

“Pass the remote, please, Eggsy.”

“Suck my cock first.”

And then the smile. And somehow, despite the inkling of a joke that had seeped into Eggsy’s voice like melting vanilla ice cream, Harry Hart sucked Eggsy off on the couch before he had the chance to change the channel, the Great British Bake Off playing quietly on the television, accompanied by Eggsy’s violent burst of expletives, at which Harry’s mother would have crossed herself.

And then, the time when this happened.

“Harry bloody Hart is afraid of commitment!”

“Quiet down, Eggsy, it’s late.”

“You’re avoiding my statement, ya bastard.”

“I’m avoiding your statement because it is--”, a watch is checked, “--eleven forty-two and I would very much like to sleep.”

“Oh but, how can you sleep knowing ya deathly afraid of commitment, Harry? You’ll have nightmares about settlin’ down, doing taxes togevah, seein’ me mum on holidays, takin’ those wretched family pictures wif the white backdrop--”

“Eggsy, that’s enough.” 

And then the smile. But it was different that time because Eggsy had faltered a little where he laid on the bed, belly down, his head and arms hanging over the side. It was a smile, but it was a sad smile. Bitter. Melancholy in the mirror that Harry was looking through and powder blue in the backs of Eggsy’s eyelids and he wasn’t even trying to be manipulative, he was just being honest. 

Harry had moved away from the bureau where he had been removing his cufflinks and tie, turning to face Eggsy then, frowning deeply. He walked across the hardwood floor and knelt in front of where Eggsy had stretched out, taking his chin in his palms. 

“Eggsy Unwin, I am not afraid of commitment.”

“Then prove it.”

“Marry me.”

And then the smile.

 

It didn’t matter where they were, what they were doing, if they were doing each other; all Eggsy had to do was part his lips and smile (radiant, bright, endless, deathless) and Harry fell apart like a man made of dirt in the rain. 

But, in all terrible honesty, he didn’t mind it. Not one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at badcannibalpuns.tumblr.com  
> You are good egg for making it this far  
> Sorry this is so stupid and short and whatever, just fuck me up but like comments are much appreciated


End file.
